Grief and Relief
by sydiy5bea
Summary: Sam contracts Nate for a job. Sully doesn't like it.
1. Chapter 1

"Nate, we've been through this!" I yell, gesturing with my hands. "Sam is bad news. He's going to get you killed!"

The kid scoffs and rolls his eyes. "He's my brother! He wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

"Blood ties only get you so far, kid. He may not be the one pulling the trigger, but he might be the one aiming for you."

"Sam would never point a gun at me. I think you're just jealous."

"Oh, please."

"You're jealous that I'm doing a job with him and not you."

"That is not true. You are acting like a child."

"Good comeback, Sherlock," he sneers. "Maybe I'm acting like a child because you always treat me like one."

"Oh, not this again." I shake my head, turn around, and run a hand through my hair. "Kid, I'm just trying to keep you from getting killed."

"Well, maybe I don't need your help! I can take care of myself!"

"Then go!" I turn back on him, letting my exclamation ring throughout the apartment. I immediately want to take it back when I see the look of hurt on his face, but I have to tell him straight. "I don't want to be the cause of your demise. I don't think I could live with myself."

Nate lifts his bag up over his shoulder all the while glaring at me. "Then I'll leave, if that's what makes you happy."

I try to stop him by the door. "Kid, don't."

"Let go of me!" He pulls his wrist from my hand. I take a step back at the look of hate he gives me. "I can't believe I stayed with you this long. Y-You're so controlling and-and manipulative! Sam was right. You're using me."

"Nate, do you really think that?" I fix him with a look, still blocking the doorway with my body. "After all we've been through, you think I'm just using you? That was never my intention, kid. You're my friend. In fact, you're my best friend. I'm not trying to manipulate you, I'm trying to keep you safe. That's what friends do."

The kid swallows hard, not meeting my eyes. "I'm sorry, Sully," he whispers. "I can't stay here. I would be limiting myself. Sam can give me more opportunities."

I frown and reach out to tilt Nate's head up. My grey eyes meet his impossibly blue ones. "That's not my kid talking. That's Sam."

Nate slaps my hand away just after I catch a pinch of fear in his eyes. "I am _not_ your _kid_!" he snaps. "I don't need you anymore! Goodbye!" He gives me one last hateful glare, then pushes past me and slams the door behind him.

* * *

I'm left on my own for the first time in eight years. Granted, Nate has had his own apartment since the age of eighteen, but I bet he spent more time here than there. And for that, I was grateful. I always slept better with him under the same roof. When he was away, I slept with my phone in my hand for quick access in case he needed me. Now is no different, even if he told me he hated me.

I sigh and roll over so my back is against the mattress. I absent-mindedly squeeze the phone with both hands, willing Nate to call with some kind of news. I've only met Sam a handful of times, but I got this weird vibe from him. I was on edge whenever he visited. I didn't mind that the kid got along with his brother, but I never liked the way Sam seemed to think himself above Nate. The kid claims it's just an older brother thing, but I'm not so sure.

"What's the matter with me?" I whisper to myself. In all my years, I've never been this worried about anyone, myself included. Nate's an adult now. He can take care of himself. "I'm just being over dramatic."

I roll out of bed at an ungodly hour during Nate's seventh day away. I get a glass of water, keeping the phone close at hand just in case. Nate may be a capable adult, but I still have this weird feeling in my bones. "When did I become such an old man?" I ask myself, taking another sip.

I flinch at the sound of knocking at my door. Frowning, I extirpate myself from the stool and peer through the peephole. My heart leaps at the sight of a distorted, dark haired, young man. I quickly unlock the door to a grim looking Nate. He meets my gaze and says, "Sam's dead." His voice holds no emotion, but his eyes carry pain and grief.

"Oh, Nate," I sigh, taking his bag and ushering him inside. "I'll get you something to drink. Beer?"

"More like whiskey," he mutters, collapsing at the bar.

"Okay, coming right up." I rifle through the cabinets for a glass and the whiskey. Nate absent-mindedly fiddles with the ring hanging around his neck. "Here, buddy. Drink up." I slide the glass over and Nate downs it in one go.

"One more, please," he says, laying his head against the bar surface.

"So, you wanna tell me what happened?" I ask quietly, pouring Nate another glass.

He shakes his head no against the wood. His forehead remains planted against the bar until I place the refilled glass next to his head. He sucks the new one dry, then slides off the stool to unsteadily land on his feet. "I'm going to bed," he rasps, refusing to make eye contact. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, no. I don't mind. Sleep will do you some good. See you in the morning," I wave.

As soon as he disappears into his room, I let out a sigh of relief. _Nate's okay... Oh, thank god, Nate's okay._ I pour myself a shot of whiskey for the hell of it, then make my way to the couch. The stupid thing about getting older is: once you're up, you're up. I put the TV on mute and watch M*A*S*H* reruns with the subtitles on.

Four episodes later, I hear movement coming from down the hall. Nate turns the corner into the TV room quickly and startles at the unexpected sight of it's lone occupant. "Oh, you scared me," he breathes, putting a hand over his chest. "I thought you went to bed."

"Eh. It's never too late for a little Radar fix," I say, motioning towards the screen. "Can't sleep?"

"Uh, sorta..." He slings his duffel onto his shoulder and begins to make his way towards the door. "I was just thinking over the, um... 'conversation' we had before I left. I forgot we weren't really on speaking terms. Sorry to get in your way."

"Wait, what? Hold your horses, kid." I shake my head in confusion. "Since when are we not on speaking terms?"

"Since I yelled at you and left."

I sigh and rub my eyes tiredly. "Nate, we're partners. We're supposed to argue. It's healthy. So what, you yelled at me? It's not the end of the world."

"So... you're not mad?"

"No," I scoff. "I actually kind of deserved the tongue lashing anyway."

Nate's eyes give the slightest glimmer of a smile, the closest I've actually seen him get so far. "So, um, can I just stay here tonight? I'm kind of tired and I don't really want to drive-"

"Say no more," I cut him off. "You can stay here as long as you want. You always have a place here, remember?"

Another smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. Thanks Sully."

"No problem, kid. Now get some sleep. Morning will be here before you know it and I've got a big breakfast planned for tomorrow."

Nate raises a slightly amused eyebrow. "I'm gonna hold you to that, old timer."

I chuckle with relief as his figure finally recedes down the hall. Now that the boy is finally back under my roof, I can finally stop having heart attacks every time the goddamn phone rings.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun is only just peeking over the horizon when I kick open the apartment door, arms laden with the fruits of my excursion. Or rather, the _pastries_ of my excursion. Nate and I don't really do the fruit thing. Except for apples. Nate loves apples.

An hour later, I have eggs, bacon, and a tall stack of pancakes prepared for breakfast. But still no Nate. _That's weird. He's usually up and about by now._

I peek into Nate's room to find the blinds still drawn. He's curled up under the covers with his back to the door. I sigh inwardly and knock on the door to announce my presence. "Hey, buddy. You awake?"

Nate groans and pulls the covers over his head.

"I'll take that as a no," I chuckle, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Breakfast is ready."

"Give me five more minutes..."

"I've got donuts."

He pauses for a second, weighing the benefits of getting out of bed versus donuts. I guess donuts win, because he slowly begins to peel off the covers.

I ruffle his hair and head back to the kitchen. I lay out two plates and start to load them with eggs and bacon. The sound of running water makes me frown. Nate's not usually one for a morning shower. I become even more perplexed when Nate emerges from the bathroom only a minute later. His face is puffy and his eyes are red, betraying his lack of sleep. I don't comment on it, however. He's grieving. It's to be expected.

I try to hand him his plate, but he won't accept it. "I thought you said you had donuts."

"I do, but I don't want you to fill up on that junk. You need protein first."

"But Sully..." he whines.

"But nothing. Eat your eggs and bacon, then you may have a donut."

Nate pouts, but doesn't protest any further. He knows he's not winning this battle.

We eat in silence, broken only by small talk about the weather or sports. We also avoid eye contact. I think Nate's doing it on purpose to keep me from reading him. Little does he know, his body language is giving him away. The slouching and sighing tells me he hasn't let Sam go yet. Which is expected. They were brothers after all. Who knows what they went through together when they were young.

I let Nate have his donut after only finishing half his eggs. He's too smart for his own good. He knows I'll eventually give into his puppy dog eyes. He stretches his arms over his head and declares, "I'm going to take a walk."

"Where?"

"Just around," he shrugs. "I think I need some fresh air."

"Okay." I begin to clear the table. "If you're not back in an hour, I'm calling the cops." I say it half joking, half serious. I worry about him.

Forty something minutes later, Nate returns with no major injuries or laws broken. He takes a hot shower and tries to sneak off to bed at around noon. To keep him from sleeping the day away, I make him sit with me on the couch and watch movies with me. I'm trying to keep Nate from drawing into his shell. I make sure to keep him engaged instead of letting him zone out. He slowly morphs back into his usually snarky and dorky self. It gets to the point where the movie is just background noise. There's a point where I have to physically push Nate back down onto the couch because he was literally jumping on the ottoman.

One pizza and five beers later, I send Nate to bed with a smile on his face. He's like a five year old. He uses up his energy all in one go, then acts like a zombie for the rest of the day. Damn, I love that boy.

* * *

My eyes fly open as I hear a scream come from Nate's room. I quickly pad down the hall, pistol tucked into my waistband. I poke my head into the room and find him hugging his knees into his chest whispering, "It'sjustadreamitsjustadreamitsjust..."

Nate jumps when I ask, "Everything okay in here?"

He nods.

"You sure? You don't seem okay."

"I'm okay."

"Alrighty then. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

I'm surprised how calm his voice sounds compared how terrible his complexion is. The poor boy has nightmares all the time, but I've never heard him scream like that before. I sit back down onto the edge of my bed and rub my face. I should have known a lazy day wouldn't have solved the problem. These things take time.

There's suddenly a light knock on the door. I can just make out a pair of blue eyes peering through the crack between the door and the frame. "Yeah?" I answer.

Nate presses open the door and takes a few timid steps inside. He shifts his feet, looking uncomfortable. It looks like he has something to tell me, but he doesn't know to say it.

"What's up, kiddo?" I ask, attempting to prompt him into talking.

He just blinks at me.

"Nate?"

"I'm not okay," he breathes, swallowing hard. "I'm really not okay."

My heart wrenches in concern. "Oh, Nate. Come 'ere." He tip toes over and sits next to me on the bed. He wraps his arms around himself, and his leg is jittering at a hundred miles an hour. "Tell me what's wrong."

Nate looks like he's trying to come up with the right words. "Sully, I..." He suddenly breaks off and turns his head. Soon there's the distinct sound of soft sniffling.

I rub his back cautiously, trying to keep from startling or embarrassing him. "It's okay, kid. He was your brother. It's okay to be upset."

The flood gates burst and the waterworks start pumping. He covers his face and his shoulders shake with the tempo of his sobs. I grab him into a hug. Not one of the bear hugs I use to annoy him, but a gentle one that's meant to comfort. I think all he needs is someone's arms to act as a barrier, protecting him from the rest of the world.

After what seems like hours, he pulls away, drawing the back of his hand across his nose. "Sorry," he whispers.

"It's okay to cry, kid. If you keep all your emotions bottled up, you're gonna explode."

"No, I meant sorry I got snot all over your shirt."

"Nah, don't worry about it. This shirt's been through way worse." Nate laughs softly, still not completely emotionally sound. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was in Italy with Margi?" I ask, trying to take his mind off the whole thing. He's never cried in front of me, so the awkward feeling is a first. "We were out to intercept a shipment of paintings for a local art museum and it was hot as hell..."

Nate nods off listening to my ramblings about me and Margi doing it in the back of a pick-up truck over a Van Gough. The truck part is totally true, but the painting part was an embellishment. I was just trying to make him smile. I'm happy when he's happy. And I'm on top of the world right now, because nothing can beat the warm feeling in my chest that comes from Nate laying against me.


End file.
